Needed
by Shy Spirit Kitty
Summary: A alternative ending to 'The Blind Banker'. Sherlock gets shot and suffers memory loss. John must now regain Sherlock's trust and love, but Moriarty is demanded to steal Sherlock away from John. Sherlock/John, Sherlock/Moriarty slight John/Sarah M/M.
1. Chapter 1: Lasting bond

I do not own Sherlock, this is the BBC version. Arthur Conan Doyle owns Sherlock Holmes and all the characters. BBC made the program and are making the money. I am but a fan of this pairing, and make no money from writing this. It contains massive spoilers for the ending of 'The blind banker' which I've alternated.

Note- The part about the tiger was lamely written, I hope the grammer doesn't put many people off and I just hope you enjoy this. Thank you.

Rating: M

Pairing: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, slight mention of John Watson/Sarah

This story was meant to be a one-shot, so that's why the chapter is written like this. If you like it to remain a one-shot please don't read beyond this chapter x

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It shouldn't have turned out like this.

Sarah's eyes squeezed shut as the latch unbuckled a fraction of a second away from launching the large arrow. I could hear Sherlock's struggle with the Chinese man as I fell forward. I didn't think, I honestly didn't think. Who would of thought? It was her fate. It was undecided, avoidable. Pushing the point recklessly away from Sarah at the last moment, why didn't I consider the possibility of hurting him?

Time slowed down. Sherlock's arms wound round his waist as legs kicked out desperately, his half lidded eyes as his head lifted at my sudden movement, his teeth gritted as he struggled to hold the man upright. And then the arrow flew through the air and slammed straight through the man's stomach, eyes widened with shock a raspy intake of breath and then he went still, his body limp. Sarah cried, cried in relief as she realised that everything was seemingly over.

It was over; her life would remain boring for the rest of her days. But not with me.

Because in that moment the Chinese man slumped forward; I saw him. Eyes open wide with shock for a split moment before dulling, a peaceful expression touched gracefully on his features. Blood spilled down his lips and his hair moved across his eyes as he fell backwards. Anyone would have said he looked like a fallen angel. And then... time sped up.

"SHERLOCK!" The words erupted both through my body and out of my mouth; tears were already running down my cheeks. Why? Why? WHY! WHY! I ran towards him not bothering to untie Sarah or spare a look at the other man.

Blood gushed from the large wound in the lower part of his stomach. His eyes flickered to my relief and words proceeded to follow only to be choked on by the uprising of blood. Ripping my shirt, I pushed my hand against the wound. With a shaking hand I pulled out my mobile and punched in a couple of nines.

Sherlock...

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_Sherlock Holmes never cried, nor did he smile or laugh, it would take someone with a great understanding of crime to break Sherlock or someone that got too close to the said man. His eyes filled with anger, his body shaking as I appeared in the doorway Sarah long gone. He didn't even look at my face instead he glanced down at my muddy shoes._

_"The coat she wore today was made from the white tiger, not something that you could pick up from just anywhere and much too expensive for her salary. Real enough, the fur was skinned with a thin knife, 5 inches to be exact. The inner layer has a thin fabric possibly linen, this reduces any weight other than the fur itself, skinning the white tiger is illegal"Rage shook me._

_"So now you'll suspect my girlfriend of a crime?" I yelled throwing the apartment keys onto the table and pulling off my wet shoes._

_"Girlfriend? So that's what you'll calling her now, Is it? Next you'll be moving in with her." Sherlock spat pushing his gaze onto me._

_"Maybe I should, at least then I wouldn't have to run around for you. Better yet I might just go" I didn't know what had come over me but suddenly I was flinging stuff into an open suitcase. T-shirts, trousers, pairs of mismatched socks. Like I said time sped forward._

_It all happened so fast._

_Sherlock was at the doorway blocking my exit, his eyes bore down into mine so intensely that my body burned and shivers ran down my spine. Still, I tried to push past him, but his arm shot out and slammed against the wall._

_"You try to leave... and I'll do something I might regret." His face remained neutral yet the words were somewhat spoke in a threatening tone. I should have submitted to that fate, yet I became angry, he was treating me like a child, he couldn't confine me against my will. Shoving him, Sherlock fell back against the wall. Time slows down here._

_Wild dark locks fell over his eyes as I passed him, his mouth opened slightly as he took in a shaky breath. Then I felt his arm reach out and grab mine roughly, my suitcase flew out of my arm as he yanked me back through the doorway and then threw me onto the bed._

_I sat up quickly, noticing the taller man was losing his scarf and quickly unbuttoning his shirt._

_"What the hel-" I didn't get a chance to finish my sentence because he was now on top of me, his breath heavy and his eyes held shame but at the same time excitement and something else. Was this some kind of a sick joke? "Sherlock..." I whispered, my heart was racing, my body was tingling and my lips were suddenly very dry. For a brief moment his eyes found mine and there was just silence as he leaned down._

_For one moment our lips were just a few inches away, hovering over each other. I groaned, never had this felt so intense, never did I want something so much._

_"I'm sorry..." Sherlock whispered and then his lips gently pressed against my own. It was a shy kiss, both hesitant and filled with so much desire. As he pulled away, his eyes were half-lidded and the sight of my flushed features quickly brought a groan from his lips and his form descended upon me. The feeling of his hand sliding under my shirt, the toying of my nipples, the cry from my lips. It was like a passing dream. And then we were both naked. Sherlock pale, me slightly tanned from the days in the war._

_Sherlock wasn't scared as he moved down and took my erection into his mouth. He was quite inexperienced, not letting anyone close to him after all, but it was still perfect. His perfect hair laced by my gripping fingers, his perfect eyes half shut but glimmering with lust and need, his perfect mouth brought screams from my own and the shake of a releasing organ. He pulled back licking his lips and scooping up trails running down the sides of his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine._

_And then once again he was on top of me, brushing back my sweaty blonde hair and tucking some behind my ears. He was perfect, flawless. He kissed me so passionately as his hand trailed downwards and my body lifted from the bed. His fingers moved, yet his eyes never did. There were not words, no 'are you sure?'s , no 'this might hurt', as he entered me all I wanted was his arms around me, his eyes never off me and his perfectness never flawing. I heard my name from his lips and a warmth released then refilled me. Then the bed stopped moving and only our desperate pants and moaning filled the heated air._

_The next day I didn't wake up next to Sherlock, and everything went on like nothing had happened._

It felt like hours until the ambulance arrived. The police untied Sarah and straight away she ran to embrace me, covering herself in his blood. They wanted to ask us questions, questions about what happened. Nobody seemed to bother caring that Sherlock Holmes was being lifted into the back of a Ambulance, nobody spared him a look; nobody cared as I followed him into the ambulance and held his hand, not even Sarah.

It was where I belonged. Holding his hand, looking deep into his eyes. Because when Sherlock looked down at me that day, it wasn't lust in those eyes it was loneliness. The great Sherlock Holmes was lonely. He didn't give a damn about pleasure, but he wanted me to stay... no, he_** needed **_me to stay. Because before Sherlock met me, the only company he had were the bodies as dead as him, or the people that hated him or lacked understanding. Nobody would pass him his pen, or listen to him play his violin, nobody liked him enough to stay in the same room as him without being scared.

Enter me a Ex-Medic shot in the war. Already sent down a corrupted road, without a thanks except for a bullet in the shoulder. So if corrupted? Why not share the same corrupted route with somebody you love?

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Thanks for reading, I hope it was okay.

Special thanks to Aqua-lily6 for pointing out that John got shot in the Shoulder and not the leg _ If I make any mistakes please don't be afraid to point them out I usually make them, seriously I thought Sarah's name was Mary so I had to change the names XD


	2. Chapter 2: Fading Memories

**Okay this is just a tester just to see how people react to the second chapter. Same rules appeal from the first chapter.**

I do not own Sherlock, this is the BBC version. Arthur Conan Doyle owns Sherlock Holmes and all the characters. BBC made the program and are making the money. I am but a fan of this pairing, and make no money from writing this. It contains massive spoilers for the ending of 'The blind banker' which I've alternated.

Rating: M

Pairing: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, slight mention of John Watson/Sarah

**Out of character may follow for a while but the characters will return to them normal-selves in due course. **

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I never liked hospitals, ironic for a doctor isn't it? Plastic chairs, screaming children and beds of people that were beyond the help of being healed short term. Two doors flung open and a bed was being pushed out, in the bed a frail old lady looked dazzled by the sudden change of scenery and her hands twitched from the rush of excitement. I glanced down at the floor, hands grasping the side of my head; trying to block out a couple of sisters asking for the status of their grandmother, which was reported as 'incurable'.

I wanted somebody to tell me that Sherlock would be alright, that maybe I could go to sleep knowing that when I woke up Sherlock would still be there for me. Words like 'Critical' and 'coma' didn't make any sense to me. I heard the word 'dull' ring through my ears as the nurse began to ask me questions, what had happened? What was my relation to Mr Holmes? Was there anyone I wanted to call? A warm paper cup was then shoved into my open hand and a green blanket draped around my shoulders for the 'shock'. The blood on my hands had been washed off a few hours ago after I had been checked for Injuries, but there was still a thin layer stuck beneath my nails; Sherlock's blood.

Sherlock...

Tears ran down my face, and my body shook with silent sobs. Why did this one man's blood affect me when no other man's did? Why did I valve Sherlock's life more than anyone else's? Why did the thought of losing him scare me more than the thought of dying myself?

I love him.

"I love you," I whispered before the world was swept away in a blur of bright lights, and white coats.

* * *

_"Dull." Sherlock scoffed, eyes off the television screen after the character named Buttercup was pulled into a kiss by her beloved. "Give it a few more minutes Sherlock," John said grabbing a handful of popcorn. Sherlock smirked delightfully and he reached forward and took hold of John's chin. "As you wish..." he mumbled before his lips went to cover his partners. A buzz and suddenly the lights went out and Sherlock was gone. Two tears ran down the doctors cheeks as he called out for him, 'why was I crying? Wasn't I happy? ' John thought just as he heard Sherlock behind him._

_"I've got to go." Sherlock yelled out in the distance. John turned to him blurry under the new bright lights._

_"Really now?" He said sadly. Sherlock smiled and scooped down to his John and held him close. "I'll be back, don't worry." He said wiping away John's tears before his lover stepped away from him. Little things around him disappeared, pictures, articles, bills, cards. Sherlock clung to himself as he felt chills wrap around his body and the light began to dim. Sherlock watched the light for a moment before he felt the warmth of arms surround his body. "No, not this please." Sherlock whispered. As the lights went out a tear ran down his cheek and all that he knew disappeared._

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**Okay so I was going to go with anemia plot, what do people think? Should I kill Sherlock off? Or should I follow a Anemia plot with John helping Sherlock regain his feelings?**

**Sorry for the shortness x**


	3. Chapter 3: From Yesterday

Really sorry about how short this one is :'( I have a friend over and it's hard to write this when he's around because I'm scared of what he'll say to me.

I do not own Sherlock, or make any money from writing this of course.

Rated- M

Note- I'm sorry this chapter is poorly written, it was quite boring to write, as I had to place it in a hospital. Next chapter will be better as I like working around other places such as homes, but hospitals I fail at.

The beginning part is based the morning at their first night together. But I doubt any of this will be 1st person again, sorry. x

_

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Mr Watson?_

"Don't leave me." "_Sherlock..." the said man looked up briefly, eyes furrowed in confusion and annoyance._

_"I'm working." He said eyes only connecting briefly with his friends before he looked back into the microscope again. John stood beside him, half naked and flustered. _

"_About yesterday-" Sherlock put out his hand._

_"Pen" Sherlock __demanded. John blinked dazzled before pushing the pen angrily into Sherlock's palm and then turning away without another word; hands curled with rage. Sherlock cringed as John's door slammed hard, looking up sadly, he paused for a moment to look at John's door._

"_I'm sorry."_

_Mr Watson?_

"_Sherlock?"_

_

* * *

_

**Something warm, something soft, Sherlock eye's fluttered open as the warmth disappeared from his lips, his head thumped to his annoyance as he stared blindly into the lights.**

**"Christ...He mumbled throwing the thin sheets back over his head and burrowing deeper. After a few moments of intense heat he kicked it off and hurled his feet off the bed, groaning as his stomach flooded with pain.**

**"The doctors won't be pleased if you reopen the stitches,?" Sherlock glanced up, somewhat confused as the blonde man pulled back out a seat and settled down next to his bed. He analysed the man, blonde hair, dark suit, white and blue striped shirt, hint of fading cologne. The man's hand came up to rest of his, Sherlock scoffed and moved his hand away.**

**"Not Interested" Sherlock spat angrily looking away, the man's hand hovered for a moment over the bed before falling to his side.**

**"I knew it..."He mumbled and their eyes locked again this time the man's filled with sadness while Sherlock's remained somewhat puzzled and questionable.**

**"I'm sorry, have we 'met'?" Sherlock asked, cocking his head and smiling smugly as the older man broke eye-contact and began fidgeting uncomfortably.**

**"John, John Watson." John spoke grimly. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly as his own heart responded to the name and yet no memory of ever meeting this man came to him. "I'm your new flat-mate."John announced with a strained smile. Sherlock thought for a moment, yes it would make sense, why that name was familiar without a face, why just the thought of someone else with him in the flat excited him, he smirked amused.**

**"Do most flat-mates take the liberty to visit the other rent payer while they're in hospital?" John looked up and for a moment he considered telling Sherlock what he was to him. Reaching out, he grabbed Sherlock's hand and squeezed it tight.**

**"No, but friends do."**

* * *

_Amnesia _

_His Sherlock was gone. _

Sinking back into his seat, the doctor put a comforting hand on John's shoulder.

"Hey it doesn't mean it's permanent" He said, after seeing the man's face drop.

_ Does it matter? It's my fault, mine. _

_Shock, that's how it happened. Memories that were recently gained were now torn apart, lost. Those few months with Sherlock, forming a bond, becoming friends... lovers, were gone; all gone. As far as Sherlock knew, he had been in the kitchen when he passed out due to toxic mixtures, he guessed that he had stupidly fallen onto a butter knife and Mrs Hudson had rung for the ambulances. Sherlock didn't know John. He didn't know who he was, what his name was, or anything of the bond they shared. Leaning his head back against the wall, John closed his eyes._

**"_It had just come as a bit of a surprise for me. After all who would want to be flat-mates with Sherlock Holmes?Sherlock spoke dryly eyes narrowing at John suspiciously. Mycr-"_**

**"_No, he offered me money, I turned it down." John interrupted quickly, smiling warmly at the detective. Sherlock shot a false smile at John but as the older man looked away Sherlock rolled his eyes._**

**_ But in all honestly there was something about the other man that Sherlock didn't understand,this man made him feel odd and somewhat insecure, and it excited him. Sherlock had once hovered on the possibility of having a friend, he had often watched a bunch of male friends drinking pints and girls having a meal after clothes shopping. Once or more often he was invited to join a 'single' friend's table but he declined each time, he didn't want a relationship pure and simple, they were dull; nobody had the energy to catch up with him, he didn't even want one night stands, nobody would touch him except for him and that's how Sherlock liked it. But... staring at John, he could imagine the man beneath him, crying out his name as Sherlock plowed into him, he had never had thoughts like these before and yet here he was having these sexual thoughts about a guy he had just met. And that god-damn smile, so simple, cheeks lifting up and tiny wrinkles creasing around his forehead. Something was screaming at the back of his mind, and yet for once Sherlock decided to dismiss is, it was probably the morphine after all; getting him high like this. _**

**_Then why was it when John left, Sherlock felt somewhat frustrated, like there was something he needed to say or do. He sat there glancing down at the hand that had touched his. 'Blood' There had been blood in his nails. As Sherlock laid back down and thought more of the other man, he completely ignored the white lilies by the side of his bed, newly placed. _**

**_'With regards, a fan x x x'_**

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_Sorry for the shortness, I really hated writing this chapter x :( Thanks for the reviews, tell me what you think? Any mistakes will be corrected, thanks guys x_


	4. Chapter 4: Hear the whispers in the dark

Would like to say sorry for the lateness of this chapter. Another chapter I didn't enjoy to write. I'm looking forward to writing the next one though. I'm starting college again tomorrow! Am looking forward to it! I'm not really a good writer, and I wanna be a film/tv director so badly so this course gives me enough A lvls to get into Unie ^_^ But I should still update alright, it won't effect it.

I do not own Sherlock, this is the BBC version. Arthur Conan Doyle owns Sherlock Holmes and all the characters. BBC made the program and are making the money. I am but a fan of this pairing, and make no money from writing this. It contains massive spoilers for the ending of 'The blind banker'and the 'great game' which I've alternated.

Pairing- Sherlock/John

Rated M

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"That's it! It wasn't suicide, it wasn't Uther, Ralf, Dominic, Ellis or Roy that forced the man off the bridge at gunpoint. Taking the first letter from each name and considering the sexes, U-R-D-E-R, this new player has given up the first letter of a name and confirmed that he's male." Sherlock exclaimed excitedly, picking up a postcard addressed to himself, he turned it around swiftly and grinned when he saw the 'M' at the bottom.

It had been three weeks since Sherlock was released from hospital. After a few days of bed rest, Sherlock pulled himself out of his misery and ventured on a few cases to the annoyance of John Watson. John although having protested, did feel somewhat glad that the old Sherlock Holmes had resurfaced. When he told Sherlock of his fascination with the younger man's spot on assumptions, he was instantly pulled into a taxi and offered by Sherlock himself the place of a work accomplice.

But things weren't the same. Sherlock for whatever reason blanked out John most of the time, more than often he was on his phone, texting while John was with him. Sherlock instead of going out with John went out on his own for hours on end, he would come back, ignore John and go to his own room only to resurface in the morning for tea and the morning paper. John was miserable to say the very least, but he was determined to make everything normal as possible for the high functioning sociopath. First by entering a 'relationship' with Sarah, hoping that Sherlock would once again disapprove and re-act his previous actions.

Instead the announcement of his relationship status seemed to push Sherlock further away from him, almost to the point where Sherlock could no longer look at him when speaking or bare to be in the same room. It was only in the heat of the moment when Sherlock would act as he normally would, bouncing around, yelling out to John as they uncovered clues for cases. But between cases John felt like another person to Sherlock, a expendable person.

He was so far from the truth

* * *

BANG

BANG

Sherlock glanced up tiredly at the ceiling, nothing caught his eye in the papers today. The front door clicked, and Sherlock turned to stare at the doorway, heaving a content sigh as he realized that John was back. Lifting his gun again he shot two rounds without looking then aimed another two whilst making sure he didn't hit John by accident then let his hand fall to his side.

"What the hell are you doing?" John yelled out, hands falling from his ears, as he turned to glance at Sherlock. Sherlock mumbled something, something that John didn't quite hear over the ringing in his ears. "What?" He asked, face scrunching up. "Bored!" Sherlock exclaimed standing up from the chair and aiming his gun again. "No," John put his hands over his ears again as Sherlock shot another two rounds into the walls before he raced forward and took the gun from Sherlock's hand without resistance.

"I don't know what's got into the criminal classes, good job I'm not one of them." Sherlock said, examining his yellow spray work. It had been evidence that John collected from the case of the 'Black Lotus' not that Sherlock knew that. But considering that the John Watson on his records had failed to show up for a ASBO a few weeks ago he wasn't all to surprised when he discovered yellow spray paint and pictures of similar designs.

"So you take it out on the wall?" John looked up, reloading the gun. Sherlock stroked the wall fondly and sighed.

"Ah the wall had it coming." He flickered the face then fell backwards onto the sofa. John folded his coat in half and started asking his friend about the case, which Sherlock just said it wasn't worth his time, all the while not looking at John.

"Ah a shame." John said somewhat hurt as he walked into the kitchen, glaring at the experiments on the table then walking to the fridge. Sherlock smirked as John swore and closed the fridge quickly, counting down the moments until John would reopen the fridge then state the obvious.

"Severed Head?" John mumbled, Sherlock smirked at the thought. "Just tea for me thanks." He called out.

"A bloody head!" John yelled, Sherlock looked at John annoyed.

"Where else was I meant to put it?" He spoke harshly, before his face softened as John looked at him distressed "You don't mind for you?" He asked softly, turning away from John. _'Of course I mind. Bloody hell Sherlock, why won't you look at me?' _John thought, and for a moment he remembered Sherlock mumbling a sorry before their lips met.

"Sherlock why won't you look at me?" He asked suddenly, now hovering above the longer man.

Sherlock continued to ignore him rolling over to the side and curling his feet up.  
"Is there any reason I should be?" He asked. John sighed and shook his head.

_You wouldn't stop looking at me as we made love. Sherlock, how long must I wait until I can tell you how much I need you? _He thought biting his nail. His eyes followed the younger man's body, filled with need.

"Sherlock." He moaned quietly as his body shuddered with remembrance; this need had grown since he kissed Sherlock in hospital; the need to be loved by the man that forgot he had a heart sometimes.

"It's pretty obvious isn't it John." Sherlock spoke coldly. John snapped his head up as Sherlock gave him a harsh glare. "You make me feel uncomfortable." Sherlock said lowly, standing up and making his way pass John, instead though his wrist was grabbed and he was pushed hard against the wall.

"You try to go, and I'll do something I might regret." John said darkly shocking Sherlock as he pushed his lips against Sherlock's and kissed him softly.

Sherlock didn't respond, his mind screamed at him to respond but he just stood there and watched John Watson with wide eyes. The fluttering of John's eyes, the content sigh that escaped his mouth, and then the warmth had gone and John was mumbling words into Sherlock's chest and clutching his blue shirt, pulling at it as he cried.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._ John thought in his mind while he was crying out the opposite to Sherlock and hitting him softly against his chest. Confidently John leaned up for another kiss.

* * *

_Sherlock was smiling down at him as older man cried under the street lights and the weak glow made the tears look like fleeing diamonds._

"_Bu-but..." John choked on his words as Sherlock muffled the cries by leaning down and kissing his lover. Shutting his eyes, a single tear ran down to their lips and John moaned as Sherlock deepened it, bringing his hand to rest in the detectives hair. _

"_I love you." Sherlock mumbled again. _

_

* * *

_

Sherlock's hand pressed against John's chest. Eyes covered by the dark curls of his hair. A sharp intake of breath and then he was pushing John away and breathing heavily.

"Do you regret it?" Sherlock mumbled, he looked up eyes filled with pain and confusion. _What do you expect me to say Sherlock? That you loved me once? That we together, you were happy?_ When John didn't answer, Sherlock lifted his wrist and wiped his lips on his arm. John had enough, stealing one more look at Sherlock he stormed passed him, apologizing to Mrs Hudson on the stairs but never the less slamming the door loudly on his way out. Sherlock quickly made his way to the window, stepping on the table and flinging the curtain aside. He watched as John disappeared out of site before he sighed and turned to look at his artwork again.

_"You try to leave... and I'll do something I might regret." His face remained neutral yet the words were somewhat spoke in a threatening tone. John felt like he should have submitted to that fate, yet he became angry. Shoving him, Sherlock fell back against the wall. Time slows down here._

_"I'm sorry" Sherlock mumbled before leaning down, their lips about to touch-_

The windows suddenly shattered in, and a large explosion sent Sherlock into unconsciousness.

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*hides* *ek* I dunno what to say :(


	5. Chapter 5: W or M?

I do not own Sherlock, the BBC do, I make no money from writing this. Sherlock was made by Arthur Conan Doyle.

Rating: M/M

Pairing: Sherlock/John John/Sherlock, Moriarty/Sherlock

A/N- I'm sorry for taking so long to update. There's a extremely important family issue that's prevented me from thinking about this for a while. I really hope you enjoy.

Warning- This Story is silently AU, not everything follows the exact plot.

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_

_When the lights go out you don't remember much, you're just falling. Lost in a world of black comfort and snippets of things once said and seen._

_The imaginary friendships you made with children you didn't want to play with; their voices loud and insulting. The broken cries of a new born baby found in the nick of time. And the young medic in secondary school, the first and only person he ever fell in love with, leaving for war and promising to come back but never doing so. _

_Sherlock had turned back the clock so many times._

_It started with the morphine; quite large doses to keep the mind from thinking at night. Sherlock then began taking speed in the day just to get himself from places to places. By the end of the second week Sherlock was lying half-way across the floor way to buzzed up to think much at all. But he wasn't far enough to get addicted. _

_And then came the first case with Inspector Lestrade, a man at the very peak of his career. Sherlock did simply what he did best in the right place at the right time. It wasn't that Lestrade and Sherlock worked well together despite what others thought, he didn't find Sherlock annoying to the point where he couldn't stay in the same room as him. But saying this, perhaps it was because they shared a lot of things in common?They were both alone, both pushed around, both confused. And after the third case they had something else in common... Lestrade introduced Sherlock to cocaine._

_Lestrade and Sherlock stayed up at night shooting up cocaine until they were to high to remember anything. The misery of being alone and unaccepted disappeared because they had each other; Lestrade even went as far enough as to call Sherlock his 'friend' in those few hours of dancing lights and warm feelings._

_It took several weeks for Sherlock to become hooked, but less than 3 months before Sherlock was collapsing around the streets trying to find money for his next 'fix'._

_ Mycroft found him lying in some gutter, half dead. Automatically he sent his little brother off to a private hospital and fixed security cameras around London to prevent any future harm to his younger brother. Safe to say Sherlock never took cocaine again. Often when Sherlock was tempted, Lestrade would remind Sherlock of those painful times by pulling up his sleeve and showing the patches that dotted all up his arms, covering the injected points._

_Drugs were the simple solution, life was difficult. Everything was now so out of place, Sherlock wondered why John Watson felt so much more than just a accomplice. The fluttering of his cold heart reminded Sherlock of the time his hand had reached out to touch the fire, recoiling every-time but in need for something painful and willing himself to be burnt for the mere memory._

_ Memories... touching somebody, the warmth. Sherlock was almost positive that it was John that he was touching, that the words JW glistened proudly on the same Medic's name tag as it did on his dog tag. It was highly possible that John that had been his first and only true love._

_

* * *

_

John, was all Sherlock could think about when the explosion behind him settled.

A dull buzzing ringing in his head and the slight pulse of a vein. People were loud, to muffled to make any sense, and yet Sherlock knew that what they were saying held no importance to him whatsoever. Groaning, Sherlock's fingers curled against the floor and his leg bent backwards as he pulled himself onto his knees. As he looked up he blinked away his misty sight and shook the dust that had set in his hair. Sight coming back to him, the first thing he saw was the yellow face smiling back at him,and quite near it stood his brother. Mycroft was holding himself stern but as Sherlock meet his gaze he undoubtedly saw a smirk. Oh yes, today was going to be interesting.

* * *

Jim Moriarty had always been so fascinated by the consulting Detective's lifestyle; what he brought, what he did, who he saw. Watching Sherlock Holmes had once been a hobby, but now it was a obsession and not a light one at it. Jim wanted to pull Sherlock into a darkened alley, knife to the throat and beautiful screams that sung erupting from such a perfect man. A tongue to lick the shell of Sherlock's ear as he took him violently and broke him. It was all Jim could think about when Sherlock ran around with such adrenaline.

_How long would you last until you broke under me? _

It was on the day that John Watson arrived that Jim found himself somewhat cheated and out of place. If it weren't for Sherlock's immediate reaction to the older man Jim would of automatically ordered a sniper to shoot down the ex-solider...he regretted not doing so when he had the chance. A few weeks later, he watched Sherlock, naked and graceful, pounding his only friend into the mattress, whispering words that Moriarty found arousing and disgusting.

Somewhere beneath all this though Jim was jealous. John had taken what was rightfully his, and Jim was going to make sure he would break Sherlock in. Now that the man had lost everything, Moriarty was going to make sure Sherlock would never remember John again.

* * *

Jim had watched Molly Hooper very carefully for the past week. Going clubbing had not been nearly as fun compared to sucking information about Sherlock in-between kisses and drinks. It wasn't that he needed the information but just knowing what those beautiful eyes looked like when you actually stared into them; knowing how the man sat and what he did behind the eyes of cameras, made it more than enough for Jim to survive the whole week as Molly Hoopers new boyfriend, without killing her at least.

This morning however was the last time he would see Molly Hooper as plain old Jim.

* * *

The door swung open. A feeling of discomfort came over John as Molly Hooper walked into the room, beaming happily. "Any luck?" She asked, Sherlock didn't turn away from his work but answered in the affirmative.

Oh how wonderful his voice sounded. Looking beyond Sherlock, Jim noticed John turning behind him away from Molly. Snippets of John ran through his head, pleasured, clenching, screaming. Jim smiled before walking into the room, acting somewhat confused.

"Oh Sorry! I didn't, I..." Sherlock looked at him then, eyes slightly alarmed, but John continued to look at Sherlock, almost as though it was just him and Sherlock still in the room. lifting his eyebrows up, Jim put his hand against the door and watched those blue eyes dart between both Molly and himself before he turned back to his work.

"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes." Molly said. Jim noticed the small glare John shot at himself and Molly.

_Possessive, ain't you pet?_

Jim didn't let his eyes wonder off again, he was amazed. Sherlock was beautiful; really beautiful. What he saw in John Watson would forever be a mystery.

"Hi. So you'll Sherlock Holmes." Out of the corner of his eye he saw John look at him. "Molly's told me all about you. Are you on one of your cases?" He chucked now moving forward into Sherlock's personal space. John stumbled back as Jim pushed him out the way, his eyes darting around somewhat confused and hurt. "Jim works in IT upstairs, that's how we met, office romance." Molly announced, Jim chuckled for measure and for one magical moment Sherlock turned to him and looked straight into his eyes.

"Gay." Sherlock mumbled. Moriarty watched him admirably.

So it was true then. Sherlock Holmes could tell your lifestyle with a single glance, he wondered if Sherlock see just how much blood had stained Jim's face. John stood behind him, stern like a guard-dog.

"Hi." Sherlock said looking at him briefly with a smile.

"Hii." Jim said before knocking the dish purposely over. John turned away as Sherlock glanced down at Jim, his eyes frozen to the tag around the other man's neck.

_**JM.**_

**Hospital? War Tag?**

_"Don't go. You really don't have to. Honestly, they got more than enough." Sherlock said. Rolling to his side he bent his head to capture the older's man lips in a warm kiss. The older man sighed with content before he softy pushed Sherlock away. "Sherlock..." He mumbled sadly, their eyes locked. "You're what makes me sane. I can't just let you go." Sherlock said as he was pulled into a embrace. "We all know that isn't true. You've got a whole life ahead of you, Sherlock Holmes. Get married, have children, pursue your dreams, reach out and take them." The young doctor mumbled stroking Sherlock's strong dark locks. Sherlock gritted his teeth. __"Don't die out there, I promise I'll find you." Sherlock felt the man's arms around him tighten. "Thank you." The other man whispered. Sherlock noticed before the man left, the golden tag glistening two shiny letters._

**JW Or JM? Which had it been? Sherlock had been so sure that John had been the man in that memory but now here was Jim; looking at him with such love and familiarity. Which was it? **Sherlock felt his heart beat faster as Jim met his gaze again.

** What was with this guy? John was clearly a heterosexual (despite the kiss, he was still pursing a relantionship with Sarah was he not?) whereas this man was clearly not.**

Jim's eyes danced up to his. The 'W' in Sherlock's head spun. John or Jim? Jim or John? Quickly, he pocketed the man's number and found himself looking longingly at Jim.

"It was nice to meet you." Jim said happily putting his hand out. Sherlock slowly put his hand around Jim's; now standing and looking down intensely at Moriarty.

"You to... Jim." Sherlock said. He squeezed Jim's hand.

Like a trigger it shot John Watson.

As cold eyes darted between Sherlock and Jim, Molly began to move aside; shortly after she begin escorting Jim out the room. Sherlock turned back to his work, confused and somewhat flustered, hands trembling as he adjusted the lens, John hovered over him as though nothing had happen. However before Jim left he couldn't stop the smirk on his face as John Watson clenched his fists.

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I hope it's good enough for a review x


	6. Chapter 6: I want you to want me

I do not own Sherlock (BBC), Sherlock Holmes was made by Arthur Conan Doyle, I make no money from writing this.

"Sherlock!" A river of vomit erupted from his lips, tears streaming down his exhausted face. As he turned to his brother-his face red and shiny and his curls wet with sweat- he saw the look of pure hate on Mycroft's face. A sob erupted from Sherlock's broken throat and he slumped to the bathroom floor, bowed, to his brother as he bent his head down in shame.

"I'm sorry it won't happen again!" Sherlock cried pathetically as his brother took hold of his wrist and pulled him up viciously.

His brother inspected the length of his brother's arm and then swung his brother round so he could look at himself in the body length mirror.

"Look at yourself Sherlock." He growled. Sure enough after a few moments the fourteen year old did as he was told and looked deep into the eyes of the boy he hated. Struggling, Sherlock tried to break free from Mycroft's hold but his grip only tightened, he looked at the fat boy in the mirror.

But he didn't see him.

In his place, stood a sickly pale teenager with dark locks framing his heart shaped face. Everything about the boy's face was perfect, but then you looked down at Sherlock's body. It wasn't that he was slim- it was more like all bone. Sherlock pressed his hand against his ribcage and saw the outline of bones between his fingers. Mycroft snaked a arm around Sherlock's waist to support his younger brother, before the younger boy became limp in his arms. Sherlock had broke. This was the first time Sherlock had broke due to shock but it wouldn't be the last.

It would be a few weeks of force-feeding before Sherlock would be allowed back into the Holmes's house-hold. It would be a week later when Sherlock would be sent to the man who would change his life.

It was a game. A unfair game between John and Jim and the prize was Sherlock Holmes. Ultimately there were rules that both players had to stick by, with chance cards and bonus rolls. Jim had made the first move, now it was John's turn.

It had been almost a month since Jim had left his number for the younger Holmes, it had been even longer since John had last kissed Sherlock or made a move on him. Their friendship had slowly repaired itself over the course of the first week, however, Sherlock only became more open when Sarah had been dumped and to be honest it was quite a relief for the both of them.

It was Saturday afternoon. The sun had sunk into the clouds and a blanket of orange had closed it's grip around the blue sky. The street lights went pink as John stood up and closed the curtains firmly, he released his grip on the velvet and turned to the younger man who was sleeping soundly, a book camping on his forehead. His lean body didn't even cover the sofa, his legs were sticking up against the armrest, feet up in the air and arms wedged between the cushions. John sighed as he picked up the discarded blanket and placed it upon his 'friend' settling himself down on the edge of the sofa. Sherlock mumbled something as John took the book from his head and began stroking his dark curls.

"You'll catch a cold you silly bugger." John mumbled, smiling as Sherlock moaned and leaned against his hand. Sherlock was quite beautiful when he was asleep, artificial orange spilling across half his face illuminating a pale face with the conflict of a warm colour. John placed his other hand on Sherlock's cheek and began to brush against the tinges of orange the smile leaving his face as he just stared considering. Sherlock grumbled as John stopped, sleepy eyes flickering open for a brief moment making John's hand freeze.

"John- love you." He grunted, glazed-over eyes locked with widened ones.

Heart thudding, John didn't think when his hand slid down to Sherlock's open lips, tracing his upper-lip with the utmost care before briefly brushing a finger across his chin. Sherlock groaned and ached against the hand; taking a chance John pulled away and then placed his arms on both sides of the consulting detectives hips to support himself as he leaned down. His lips pressed against Sherlock's tenderly for the briefest of moments before Sherlock turned his head away and broke the kiss, mumbling something about microwaves.

John continued to watch Sherlock for a while, and suddenly his eyes flickered over Sherlock's lower body and his stomach flared up. It was to much and before John had considered what he was doing his hand had begun to push down Sherlock's body, caressing every inch of naked skin between the up-turned clothes. Sherlock whined and thrusted against John's hand as it was placed on his crotch. Dragging down his trousers, John pulled out Sherlock's throbbing erection and stroked it.

"Sherlock, let me make you feel good." John mumbled as Sherlock cried out. John kissed Sherlock's neck before he climbed off his friend's body and sunk to the floor, he bent down, eye's flickering to Sherlock's face, and then opened his mouth and swallowed Sherlock.

"URG!" Sherlock shrieked, hand's flying, feet curling, legs jerking and head tossing.

John lips went up before he sunk back down and continued to move with Sherlock's body moaning himself as he felt his own erection against his thigh.

"JOHN!"

Sherlock didn't last long; he didn't even push John away as he came but it didn't matter as the doctor was more than willing to swallow what Sherlock had to give him. John pulled away after the briefest of moments, both angry that he'd taken advantage of his sleeping friend but satisfied that his name was the one on Sherlock's lips. The daze was quickly broken by the sound of his phone.

Groaning, John was about to switch his phone off when a flickering of red caught his attention. Dread washed over John as the light went out and suddenly it became very apparent that there was someone else in the room.

A man regarding him coldly with darkened eyes. John swallowed thickly.

"Hello John Watson. I see you're taking excellent care of my brother."

Mycroft.


	7. Chapter 7: You're Mine

A super Short chapter, sorry. I'm getting sluggish I know! :(

Disclaimer- I do not own Sherlock, the BBC do. Sherlock Holmes and Characters are created by Arthur Conan Doyle

Pairing- John/Sherlock, Sherlock/Jim M

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A blindfold, how original. John felt his head being forced down by firm hands as he was pushed into what he assumed was a car. He remained calm as Mycroft slipped in beside him and closed the car door.

"The Warehouse please-" Mycroft shifted in his position brushing across John, the car had jolted to life and began moving.

"-Level 4 Anya (1), who knows what Moraity has planned." He spoke, the woman smiled at her boss and began to type frantically on her blackberry. For a moment Mycroft simply stared at John, considering on how to speak to him, with a sigh Mycroft pulled out his mobile and pressed the middle button. The video began playing.

The sound of Sherlock crying out as John pleasured him made the doctor blush and squirm uncomfortably in his place.

"Stop it." He mumbled pathetically keeping his head low as Mycroft turned the volume up. After a few moments, the doctor felt angry embarrassed tears run down his face, because it wasn't just him being exposed, but unfairly so was Sherlock.

"I SAID STOP IT!" John yelled and with blinded rage he hit out and struck Mycroft across the face. The phone flew from the elder Holmes's hand and bounced across the sound-proof glass before landing beneath Anya's foot. Mycroft showed no emotion as his head recoiled back from the sudden hit, he simply stared straight ahead before adjusting his tie and turning back to John.

"A simple please would have been more than sufficient Doctor Watson." He said bending down and picking up the mobile and presenting it to John. He gave a nod to Anya, and she ripped the blindfold off of John's face.

The car was different than the one before. This car had darkened windows which masked out both the view inside the car and outside of it. The leather of the seating was white and the entire back was stretched and divided. John Watson had only ever been in a limo once before this. Once Mycroft gained his attention again, his face flared as he saw himself on the screen, half bent.

"Now watch." Mycroft commanded and unpaused the small screen.

For a moment John could only watch himself with shame as 'he' took Sherlock, watching as his eyes widened with lust then fluttered downwards with pleasure. It took a moment for him to register the red dot on the back of his head. Heavy breathing could be heard and then the screen shifted and a faint snap echoed throughout the small speakers, the red dot lowered to the floor and then disappeared just as the Mycroft on movie began to address John.

John eye's widened with disbelief as the movie came to a end. There was somebody else... watching them, and what's more this person was about to kill him. Shocked. John opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by another familiar voice, looking down he saw Sherlock sit up, looking startled at the camera.

"_-y are you filming?" Sherlock said suddenly looking very annoyed. T_here was a giggle from the camera and it shifted slightly as another man came onto screen. Jim.

_Jim lowered himself onto the couch and embraced Sherlock before leaning back and kissing him roughly. Sherlock pushed Jim away instantly looking somewhat confused and dazed. _

"_What are you doing?" Sherlock asked in which made Jim smile. _

"_Didn't you miss me Sherlock?" Sherlock breathed in, "Remember those days when we made love for hours in my bed? I want that again, I've missed you so much." Jim said, reaching up and __stroking Sherlock's cheek tenderly. "And this way we can remember our time together." Jim motioned to the camera. Sherlock froze before sighing and briefly allowing his eyes to close. _

"_You know I love you. But I've just waited to long, it's going to take me a while to adjust." Sherlock mumbled. _John's heart froze. _Jim grinned and nested his head against Sherlock's. Craning his head, he kissed Sherlock. For a moment it was gentle; and then suddenly it was a battle for dominance. Jim pulled back hissing, thrusting his hips upwards._

"_I want to fuck you." Jim hissed straddling Sherlock and licking the side of his face possessively. Sherlock's face creased in confusion and he stared at the camera for a moment before turning his attention to the hand running down his leg. _

"_John will be back any moment." He protested and for a moment he sounded hopeful. Jim smirked at this and began to pull down his zip, all the while kissing Sherlock's neck. _

"_I'll be quick." And he stood up and threaded his fingers through the detective's hair._

_Sherlock clenched his eye's as Jim pushed out his cock and pressed the tip against his lips. _

"_Wai-" Jim took advantage of Sherlock's open mouth and after a few moments Sherlock tiredly gave in. _John could only watch in horror as his best friend was almost forced to pleasure the other man. _Sherlock pulled back just moments before Jim came, flustered but more from the lack of breath than arousal. Jim groaned for a moment before pulling his hand back and slapping Sherlock hard across the cheek. Sherlock pulled back in shock a hand coming to his burning cheek; smiling Jim pulled him by the hair and eased him forward. _

"_You're mine Sherlock Holmes, don't fucking forget that." And then he smashed him lips against Sherlock's and everything went black. _

Mycroft, who had been sitting by watching silently for the entire time, now looked at John Watson to see what his reaction would be. He wasn't at all surprised when he saw the Doctor looking murderous, clenching his fist's in such a fashion that it wouldn't at all had been surprising if he was bleeding.

"John, I think it's time to tell you about how you and Sherlock really did meet."

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I know I know Grammer -.-

Anya (1)- That girl from episode 1 (it's not her real name)


	8. Chapter 8: Brother

I do not own Sherlock (BBC), The BBC own it. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns Sherlock Holmes. I make no money from writing this, I am but a fan.

A/N: Sorry for the long update! I got around to it finally. Sorry about the grammer and spelling _

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It happened thirteen years ago. The snow had set across the country grounds but the private college remained opened like a cold statement to the rich.

Sherlock glanced through the car window to look up at the top of the building with interest. Set on the roof was a arch that had a bell inside it. Sherlock glanced at Mycroft who was looking grimly out the window.

"Am I to stay here big brother?" Sherlock asked, touching his brothers knee. Mycroft reached out and clasped his brothers hand.

"Quite right little brother. I expect you to write to me quite often about it." He said and Sherlock nodded eagerly before turning to his own window again. He began to count the number of snowdrops that were falling onto his window placing his fingers over them. Mycroft watched his brother and hesitated for a moment before reaching over and undoing Sherlock's seatbelt as well as his own. The car came to a halt and Sherlock leaned his head against the cold glass.

"Big brother, how long will I have to stay?" Sherlock asked as the engine stopped spluttering. Mycroft looked ahead, his hand still holding onto his younger brother's.

"You know Sherlock that you need to get better; I expect to see you again in the late fall if you work as hard as possible." He said biting his lip as Sherlock shuddered, obviously fighting back the tears.

"Now don't do that, you'll spoil your first impression." Mycroft said before clearing his throat and opening his door.

Outside the gates stood a man, a doctor that Mycroft had assigned to Sherlock for his treatment. The man nodded at Mycroft and smiled warmly. Mycroft knew what was about to happen, he knew that in a moment this Sherlock would be forever lost to him. With a sigh, Mycroft went round to Sherlock's door and proceeded to open it, but like he'd guessed Sherlock had pushed down the lock. Hoping that by some luck Sherlock hadn't done it intentionally he tagged lightly on the glass.

"Sherlock would you might undoing the lock?" He spoke with a friendly manner, but Sherlock didn't move instead he kept his head down. Mycroft tugged open the front door and asked the driver to exit the car. The driver glanced nervously at his young master slumped in the backseat and then back to Mycroft, who was inches away from his face; without any further instruction he climbed out.

The elder Holmes knelled down in the driver seat and stretched half of his body across the front and back seats of the car. Mycroft smiled warmly at his brother and rested his own hand on Sherlock's limp and skinny wrist.

"Come now Sherlock, let's not make a scene." He whispered tenderly, Sherlock shuddered.

"I don't want to go." Sherlock begged and it broke Mycroft's heart to see those tear filled eyes.

"It's for your own good little brother." Mycroft said. They stared for a moment, none of them willing to back down.

Mycroft tightened his grip of Sherlock's wrist and suddenly lurched the boy forward, Sherlock fought back shaking his head and mumbling 'I'm not going, I'm not going' over and over again.

Mycroft brought his other hand up and grabbed hold of the boys shirt and pulled him over the seats, all the while Sherlock screamed and kicked out, Mycroft tried to bring Sherlock's head down to the car door level and accidentally scratched the boy's face resulting in a nasty cut.

With a final tug, Mycroft lifted the screaming boy out the car and threw the boy into the snow.

"Get in!" He barked at the driver, the driver spared a single look at Sherlock's quivering body then jumped into the car and started the engine again.

Sherlock was picking himself up as Mycroft opened the back seat. They exchanged a look. Sherlock's face was bleeding and the contrast with the snow on his face made him look quite innocent and childish. The man had walked into the scene now, frowning and looking slightly confused but neither paid much attention to him.

"I'm so sorry." Mycroft whispered and he climbed into the car. Sherlock raced to it instantly, banging on the window and pleading for his brother to let him stay. Mycroft didn't even look up as the car drove away faster from his brother's running body. He felt a tear glide down his cheek as Sherlock cried out heart breaking insults and sentences the one in particular that hurt him the worst was 'I'll never forgive you!'. As the gates closed firmly, Mycroft looked back and saw his brother's eyes but they were no longer filled with hope, but with something darker, hate. Mycroft wiped the tear from his cheek and looked down at it.

Sherlock would never write.

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Mycroft had never expected to see his brother so exposed. On the 10th of January, Mycroft had set out early morning to surprise his younger brother on his birthday. He expected his brother to be sleeping when he arrived at the school, but when he looked, Sherlock had not been in his bed. At once he enquired about his brother and was informed that Sherlock spent a lot of his time 'experimenting' in the labs. That's where Mycroft found him.

Bent over the lab table with a man on top of him. Sherlock was moaning, crying out for this man as he was thrust into over and over again. The man was smirking, driving in harder and causing Sherlock to scream and shudder.

"How do you like it Sherlock? My cock inside of you, does it feel good?" He hissed grabbing hold of Sherlock's locks and tugging them for leverage. Mycroft put a hand to his mouth and leaned across the wall, he had judged by the man's jacket that he was a doctor...probably the same man that Sherlock had to meet every month for his general check up.

"Hhm! More please, I-I-" Sherlock's words were drowned out.

Mycroft had heard enough. Dumping the present into a nearby waste bin, he exited the building and climbed into his car and began to plan his letter the government at once. Hacking into the college's financial stating, he searched for a name to fit the face and at once found a Doctor John Watson.

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_ Anyone think I should of just stuck to one-shots?


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